


Not a speck of blue on him

by Qwertzu824 (Qwertzu)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: BAMF Jazz, Bluestreak needs a hug, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Grumpy Ratchet, Pre-War, established Prowl/Jazz relationship, sparkling!Bluestreak, sparkling!twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-12 08:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwertzu/pseuds/Qwertzu824
Summary: Jazz’s visor reset in surprise as he finally saw the sparkling. It was a small grey mechlet with red chevron and probably blue optics—hard to tell, they were white with static right now. His doorwings—doorwings!—drooped sadly as he hugged his knees and sobbed. APraxiansparkling!Rusted pit,Praxus fell but five vorns ago and there were only three Praxians left!





	Not a speck of blue on him

It was a routine, rather boring patrol. Jazz wasn’t really a patrol mech. Sneaking up on the enemy, undercover missions, sabotage, crazy stunts—that’s what he craved. But _patrols?_ What a drag! And he didn’t even have a partner to annoy! Okay, it was a part of his punishment – Imposter knew very well how Jazz hated lone patrols. It was unlikely that he would encounter anything even remotely interesting. Despite the increasingly difficult times and energon deficiency, crime rate in Iacon was still fairly minimal during daytime. At least he had his radio to listen to, which made things a little more bearable. Swaying his hips to the beat he tried to stay positive as his optics, hidden behind a visor, scanned the surroundings. Only three more joors to go and he would be free!

Out of habit he slowed down when passing an abandoned alleyway and decreased the volume of his internal radio. He performed a little dance to mask the fact that he was scrutinizing the place. Unsurprisingly, he found nothing unusual. Oh well, it had been worth a try... _Wait, what was that?_ Without dropping the act he danced into the alleyway; his radio offline now and his audios on maximum sensitivity. _There!_ It sounded like a whimper. He switched his visor to thermovision. There was only one heat signature on the deserted street. He looked around; nobot was watching him. Carefully he approached the source of the heat. It was hidden from the view by several large containers. A sob reached his audios. It sounded so _young..._ Jazz’s visor reset in surprise as he finally saw the sparkling. It was a small grey mechlet with red chevron and probably blue optics—hard to tell, they were white with static right now. His doorwings— _doorwings!_ —drooped sadly as he hugged his knees and sobbed. A _Praxian_ sparkling! _Rusted pit,_ Praxus fell but five vorns ago and there were only three Praxians left! The little one appeared to be around six, maybe seven—could it be that he was a survivor? Unlikely, the firing squad was nothing if not thorough. The poor thing had probably been visiting his friends or something at the time... It took him a while to notice Jazz but when he did he curled up to a tight ball and tried to make himself look smaller. He was trembling as he mentally tried to blend with the wall behind him. Jazz quickly stepped back and crouched to appear non-threatening.

“Hey,” he said softly with a smile. “Hello there, little mech, m’ name’s Jazz. I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he cooed. The sparkling looked at him suspiciously, evidently not used to kindness from strangers. “Are ya lost?” A shake of the tiny helm. “Oh, Ah know! Would ya like an energon goodie?” Reaching to his subspace he took out a sweet rusty tungsten bar. Not quite healthy but very yummy. Another mistrustful, slightly scared look. Jazz stilled, offering the goodie on his open palm for the little one to take. The Praxian mechlet looked like he wanted to refuse but his empty tank rumbled in hunger. Evidently that decided it. Optics locked on Jazz, he carefully uncurled from his position. Collecting his courage, he snatched the goodie and promptly curled back. He seemed surprised that no punishment followed. Taking a bite of the bar his optics brightened in shock. It was _good!_

Jazz smiled as he watched the tiny Praxian devour the tungsten bar. It was a smile filled with sadness; his spark was bleeding for the hungry mechlet. The poor thing was probably abandoned – hungry, dirty, scratched, with dull paintjob. The energon goodie disappeared in a record time and the little one’s tank rumbled again.

“How ’bout we get ya a fresh cube of energon, hmm?” The mini-Prowl looked at him with tentative hope. “There’s a park nearby, they’re sellin’ energon. Come with meh?”

Little doorwings fluttered pensively. The sparkling didn’t trust adults. Adults were mean. But this stranger, Jazz, had been kind to him so far – hadn’t hit him, hadn’t even yelled at him and had given him yummy food! What was the worst that could happen? Oh yes, he could get beaten. It wouldn’t be the first time. But if he ran quickly enough and hid at his secret place... Determined, he stood up, waited for the world to stop spinning and accepted Jazz’s servo.

It was a short walk to the park. There were many sparklings running around, playing and generally making ruckus, like they were bound to do. The little one holding his servo should be there among them, not hiding hungry in deserted alleyways, Jazz thought. The tiny doorwings fluttered and rose but despite having a Praxian lover Jazz couldn’t quite decipher the meaning of the gesture. Oh, he couldn’t wait to see Prowl’s face when he saw the sparkling!

They stopped by an energon stand and he bought a cube of low grade.

“Drink slowly or your fuel tank might hurt,” Jazz warned the mechlet but the little Praxian didn’t really heed him, gulping down the fresh fuel. _Primus, how long it had been since he last refuelled?_ He barely finished the thought before the half full cube dropped from the sparkling’s servos. The mechlet clutched his stomach and doubled over, purging the ingested energon from his system.

With lightning fast reflexes Jazz caught his offline frame before it could slump forward onto the purge-stained ground. Out of yet another reflex he grabbed the fallen cube with the free servo and sniffed it carefully. It didn’t smell strange, the colour was right too... He took a small sip. It was just a regular low grade. That only left one possibility – the sparkling’s system had to be damaged.

“What are you staring at? Help me load him in!” he shouted at the stunned bystanders.

Somebody took the sparkling from his servos to let him transform and loaded the mechlet inside him.

Barely remembering to send a subsonic warning for other vehicles to get out of his way, he broke his own speed records to get to the hospital. As an enforcer he would get away with it and as a not-quite-legal racer he could pull it off but he still thanked Primus the roads were relatively empty.

Jazz pulled over at the entrance to the hospital and opened his doors. A nearby medical assistant immediately rushed to see if he needed help and carefully lifted the tiny Praxian. Jazz briefly thanked him as he transformed, took the sparkling and ran inside the building.

 

* * *

“The waiting room is on the right,” the receptionist barely lifted her helm to look at them.

“This is an emergency!”

She raised an optical ridge sceptically. “Are you a medic? No? In that case you are not qualified to judge that. Please sit down and wait for a medic to attend to you.

The saboteur forced his ventilation online to prevent system overheating from a massive wave of anger. “Look,” he said, trying to sound calm, “this abandoned sparkling barely drank half a cube of low grade, purged his tank and fell offline for no apparent reason.”

“Overreacting creators... He’s not the first sparkling to purge his tank after drinking a stale cube, you know. Now if could please sit down and–”

“Haven’t ya heard me!?” Jazz couldn’t help it, his patience was snapping. “He’s not recharging _, he’s offline!_ He needs immediate medical attention! _What the frag is wrong with ya?_ ” Her creator protocols had to be glitching! Jazz didn’t even realize he was yelling until the femme flinched. _Good_ , he though vengefully.

“What’s going on here?” a new voice growled. Jazz turned to see a white and red chevronned bot with medic’s decals on his upper servos. He looked pretty irritated. “You’re in a hospital! I won’t tolerate shouting in here!”

Jazz flinched but held up the mechlet in his servos in answer. “He suddenly fell offline after purging his tank an’ _she_ is telling meh t’ _wait_.” The bevisored enforcer was starting to calm down now that a medic was there to look at the Praxian. Medics had it in their core programming to help. They couldn’t refuse, especially not when a sparkling was concerned.

The medic swiftly plugged a scanner into the mechlet’s wrist port. “I don’t suppose you’re his creator?” he asked for the record, looking at Jazz’s enforcer decals. It was fairly evident the sparkling hadn’t been cared for, Primus knows for how long, and enforcers weren’t exactly prone to mistreat younglings.

“No. He seems ta be homeless. Ah found him crying in an alleyway an’ bought him a cube of low grade. He barely had a few sips before purging an’ offlining,” Jazz explained as the scanner beeped.

The chevronned bot studied the screen with expressionless face but Jazz could _feel_ him tense. Out of nowhere, he unsubspaced a wrench and whacked the femme’s helm, leaving a small dent. “His condition is _critical_ , you glitch!” he snapped, took the little Praxian from the stunned saboteur’s servos and _ran_. They stopped by the lifts but the medic evidently wasn’t patient enough to wait and took stairs to the second floor.

After several turns they entered what looked like an operating room. The mechlet was put on the table and the medic began to prepare several scary looking instruments. He didn’t say a word. Just as Jazz was about to ask what was wrong with the sparkling, the door opened. An angry blue medic glared at the white and red bot.

“Ratchet, which part of ‘go get some rest or you’re fired’ did you not understand? And what did I hear about you denting Quickcall? You are aware–”

“ _Not now,_ Patch! This sparkling’s fuel tank is ruptured. Help me save his life or _frag off!_ ” Ratchet snapped as he put a stasis band on the little patient’s helm above the red chevron.

The second medic, Patch, walked in and stood on the other side of the table. “What do I do?” he asked as crimson fingers began cutting the grey abdominal plating with a laser scalpel.

Jazz must have made a sound because both medics suddenly turned their helms to look at him.

“Out!” Ratchet barked with so much authority Jazz didn’t even think of disobeying the order.

 

* * *

 

Thrown out of the operating room Jazz pulled himself together and remembered that he should probably call the headquarters to let them know he wasn’t going to finish his patrol. He found a private communication booth and entered his officer’s code to secure the line.

“Hey there, Jazzbot!” Blaster’s smiling face filled the screen. “What can I do for you?”

“Blaster, m’ mech, Ah need t’ talk ta somebot in charge of patrols.”

“Your wish is my command,” Blaster winked and connected him to Prowl.

“Jazz, why are you calling from a hospital? Are you alright?” White and black doorwings rose in alarm.

“Ah’m fine, Prowler,” Jazz reassured his partner with a dazzling smile.

“Jazz,” the Praxian sighed, “how many times do I have to tell you that I do not appreciate you calling me that, especially on duty?”

“Oops, sorry!” he said with a sheepish smile, at the same time sending a message via their private comm. line. ::Sorry, sparklet::

It only earned him another exasperated sigh. “Why are you calling?”

For the third time that orn, Jazz described what happened. “Ah would like ta stay in ta hospital, if that’s ’kay.”

“I see. I’ll have Baton and Speedstar finish your patrol.”

“Thanks, mech!” ::Love ya::

::I love you too:: “Is there anything else?”

Jazz hesitated. He wanted to tell Prowl the sparkling was Praxian but Ratchet implied his life was in danger and Jazz didn’t want his love to hurt if the mechlet died. His entire city had been wiped out. Even counting the little one, there were only four Praxians left. To see another one, not to mention an innocent mechlet, deactivate—it would crush Prowl’s spark (and Jazz’s too). No, it would be best if Prowler wasn’t aware of it.

“Nope, have a nice shift!” he waved and disconnected the call, missing how Prowl’s optics dimmed in suspicion.

 

* * *

 

Prowl, on the other hand, didn’t miss his partner’s hesitation. There was something Jazz had omitted to tell him. Prowl wondered why. Maybe Jazz preferred telling him in person? He tried to run an analysis to guess what information the saboteur had withheld but it was no use, he had too little input. Absently he assigned a part of his processor to deal with datapads and reports (those processes were so simple and routine they hardly required much capacity) and instead thought about the other black and white mech. The way Jazz smiled, the way moved, the way he spoke... Their first date...

_“You just enjoy embarrassing me, don’t you?”_

_“Yep, Ah do! Ya’re cute when ya’re embarrassed!”_

_“I am not cute.”_

_“Ya bet ya are! Ya’re definitely the cutest an’ most gorgeous thing on two pedes Ah’ve ever seen—and yes, that_ is _’n invitation for a date, in case you're wondering.”_

Prowl finished his shift with a smile but stayed overtime to deal with eight additional reports which hadn’t been submitted to him on time. Contented that everything had been taken care of, he drove to the hospital. Jazz’s enforcer location beacon showed that he was still there, though Prowl was sure visiting hours were over. Thankfully the traffic wasn’t too bad despite the shift change and soon he was standing before the information counter.

“I’m sorry but the visiting hours...” for some reason the brightly coloured mech trailed off when he finally looked up from the computer screen. “Second floor, Sector A. It’s on the right hand side when you exit the lift.”

Prowl’s tactical centre went into overdrive as he tried to figure out the seemingly illogical statement. He hadn’t even told the mech what he wanted! Maybe the purple and orange bot was a telepath? Unlikely, telepaths were extremely rare and certainly didn’t work as receptionists. It would be a waste of their unique talent. _My enforcer decals_ , he suddenly realized. Jazz also had them and it would be a logical conclusion for the mech to assume he came looking for his colleague. Satisfied now, he thanked the mech and followed his instructions.

He found Jazz recharging in a chair. The black and white saboteur looked tired and Prowl didn’t want to wake him up but chairs were highly uncomfortable to recharge in and he would online all sore (Prowl would know). Besides, it was time for their evening ration.

“Are you the sparkling’s creator?” a very hostile voice asked as he was about to gently shake his partner awake.

He turned to see a white and red medic. _If looks could kill_... “No, I’m not. What makes you assume that?”

Much to his surprise, the glare immediately lessened. Prowl got his answer as another medic appeared, pushing a small wheeled berth before him. On the berth was a grey sparkling, with red chevron and tiny doorwings. A _Praxian_ sparkling!

“Is he alright?” Jazz asked, woken by their voices. Prowl’s visual centre rebooted in shock.

“Yes, he should be,” the second medic confirmed. “We will place him in postoperative care unit for the night and if everything is alright, he will be moved to the sparklings’ sector tomorrow.” He sent them both a small data package with the hospital’s map and visiting hours over a short-wave comm. line. “Now go home and get some rest. Same for you, Ratchet, or I’ll have these two enforcers _escort_ you to berth! Don’t think I won’t!”

That earned him a deadly glare from the chevronned mech but in the end the exhausted looking medic complied, albeit reluctantly. Thanking them both, Prowl and Jazz headed home, promising to visit the sparkling the following orn.

 

* * *

 

Prowl and Jazz stood before the computer console of Iacon Central Hospital. Normally you only had to enter the designation of the patient you wished to visit and the computer would show you the location but they didn’t know the sparkling’s name.

“Now what?” Jazz sighed.

“Let’s try the information counter,” Prowl suggested, pointing to his left.

Jazz nodded and half walked-half danced to the counter. “’Scuse meh, m’ mech, we’d like ta visit a sparkling but we don’t know his name,” he said with one of his famous charming smiles.

The dark blue minibot was not impressed. “Do you have any idea how many sparklings are there in this hospital?”

“Ah brought him ’ere yesterday.”

The mech shook his helm in exasperation. “That only reduces your search to 15 sparklings.”

Prowl stepped forward. “He’s a Praxian. How many _Praxian_ sparklings are there in this hospital?” he asked with subtle sarcasm.

“ _Oh_. Second floor, Sector D, room 201.”

They thanked him with a nod and followed the hospital map.

 

The name tag of room D201 read

> Sunstreaker (patient)  
>  Sideswipe (his twin – DO NOT SEPARATE!)  
>  Unknown Praxian sparkling
> 
> Overseeing medic: Fixit / ~~Ratchet~~ t **Eh** ha **TC** hEt

Jazz snickered at the nickname written in messy sparkling glyphs and pinged the door open. The first thing he saw was a red sparkling doing a handstand to amuse the other two occupants of the room – a bright yellow mechlet and the little grey Praxian. Without hesitation Jazz also did a handstand and walked in on his servos.

“Hey there,” he grinned at the red mechlet.

“Hey,” the sparkling grinned back. “You’re cool!”

“Why, thank ya! Ya seem pretty cool yourself. Ah’m Jazz, by the way,” he winked and dropped back on his pedes.

“Sideswipe.” The red twin followed his lead. “That’s my twin Sunny,” he indicated the yellow sparkling.

“Don’t call me that!” the brightly coloured mechlet glared at his brother who sat down next to him despite having a free berth for himself. “My designation is _Sunstreaker,_ bitbrain.”

Jazz smiled at Sunstreaker and turned to the doorwinged sparkling sitting on the third berth. “Hey there, lil’ one. Remember meh?”

The mechlet nodded and offered a shy smile.

“There’s somebot who’s been lookin’ forward ta meeting ya...” the black and white enforcer winked and turned to Prowl, who had been standing unnoticed at the doorstep. The sparkling’s optics brightened in shock, his doorwings rising and mouth falling open. Pretty much the reaction Prowl had had seeing him yesterday.

“This is Prowl,” he introduced his partner, who was looking at him helplessly, unsure what to do.

The sparkling suddenly reached out with both servos and made a grabbing motion.

“He wants ya t’ pick ’im up,” Jazz translated.

The elder Praxian tensed. “I have never held a sparkling.”

“C’mon, Prowler, it’s not rocket science. Ya let ’im put his servos ’round your neck, put one servo under ’im to hold his weight and use your free servo for additional stability.”

Grateful for clear instructions that were easy to follow Prowl came closer and lifted the mechlet up. The grey Praxian immediately clung to him. It was awkward at first but, much to Prowl’s surprise, after a while it felt natural and... quite pleasant actually. Following an unknown subroutine, he instinctively rubbed the space between the quivering tiny doorwings to soothe the distressed mechlet.

“D‘awww...” Jazz’s grin threatened to split his face in two if it got any bigger.

Sunstreaker promptly grabbed a datapad and began sketching furiously. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare moving!” he warned.

Prowl decided to oblige him.

“So, lil’ one, ya got a designation?” Jazz asked.

The mechlet only clung tighter to Prowl. Sideswipe shrugged; Sunstreaker didn’t even bother looking up.

“Hmm, what shall we call ya?”

The mechlet flicked his doorwings: _I don’t care._

“Oh, I know!” the red twin smirked. “Turbo-puppy! He even looks like one! Oww, Sunny, what was that for?”

“Don’t mind him. He’s adopted,” Sunstreaker remarked and inspected his datapad for damage caused by its contact with his brother’s helm. Satisfied that he found none, he resumed sketching.

“How would _you_ call him, glitch-head?”

“Hmm... Silverstreak.”

“That’s actually a very nice designation, if ya ask meh,” Jazz declared. “What d’ ya think, lil’ one?”

He was answered with an indecisive flutter of grey doorwings.

“Oh, well. How ’bout ya, Prowler? How would ya call your sparkling?”

The black and white Praxian didn’t take long to come up with an answer: “Blues.”

“ _Blues?_ ” Sideswipe whispered. “What kind of designation it that?”

“One that goes rather well with ‘Jazz’, idiot,” his brother muttered.

“Oh,” the red twin nodded in understanding. Then it clicked. “ _Oh!_ Yuck, I’m gonna get some energon. Call me when they’re done with the mushy stuff!”

 _Mushy stuff_ indeed, Jazz agreed. It did feel like he was going to turn into mush any click. Prowl had just implied that he would consider having _sparklings_ with him... That meant Prowler would be willing to _bond_ with Jazz (and make Jazz the happiest bot on Cybertron, cliché as it sounds)! A brief thought flashed through the saboteur’s processor – was it possible to die of happiness? Because Jazz sure was dangerously close to finding out...

 

* * *

 

Being too young to have a subspace pocket, Sideswipe could only choose between drinking his cube where he was or carry it back to the room. He went with the first option, and dropped the empty cube into the recycler. He automatically grabbed a cube for Sunny before remembering that his twin was supposed to drink that yucky special enriched whatnot, also known as _weird green slime._ With a shrug he headed into the game room to see if he could have some fun before returning. Luck was with him that orn – one of the consoles was free. Sides quickly claimed it for himself. The console contained a vast selection of games for all age groups: tactical, logical, mathematical, puzzles, racing games, shooting games, construction games, chemical reactions simulator, piloting simulations... Not that Sideswipe was interested in any of those. He picked his favourite fighting game at the toughest difficulty.

“Sideswipe?”

_Left, left... Dodge! Aaand low kick! Ha, take that!_

“—wipe, are you listening?”

“Mhm?” _No... nonono, not there! BLOCK IT, YOU GLITCH! Uff, that was close..._

“How is your brother?”

R _ound one winner: Sideswipe. Oh yeah, Sideswipe’s the king! Oh, someone was asking him about Sunny. Slag it, couldn’t they see he was busy?_ “Better. His tank still aches sometimes but he feels much better now. Finally charged last night.” There. Now leave him be, he had a game to win. Round two was starting.

“...Praxian sparkling? Do you know his designation?”

 _What now? JUMP! Meh, lucky glitch. Oh, something about Praxians and designations._ He couldn’t quite remember. ‘Streak’ like in Sunstreaker and... some colour? No, Greystreak didn’t sound right. A music style! Something to go with Jazz... “Blues-Streak or something...” _Drop-kick!_

“Bluestreak?”

 _Yeah, sure, whatever. Just leave already! He was losing, slag it!_ “Mhm...”

“Thank you. I’ll stop by later, alright?”

_Fraggin’ finally... DODGE, YOU AFT-HEAD! No, that doesn’t count! He’d been distracted! Not fair!_

Too bad the computer wasn’t accepting complaints.

 

* * *

 

Still holding the sparkling, Prowl turned around as the door opened and an old grey medic entered.

“You moved! Now I’ll never be able finish it!” Sunstreaker whined, dejected. He knew from experience that once a model moved, they would never assume the exact same position. Light would reflect under a different angle and Sunstreaker might as well start anew. _What a waste of time!_

He was therefore very pleasantly surprised when Prowl actually managed to freeze in a _perfect_ stance.

“Stay like that!”

“As you command,” the adult commented dryly.

“Ahem, Sunstreaker?” the medic said as she held up a scanner. “It’s time for—”

“ _Not now!_ I’m busy! Come back in two joors. Please?”

“Alright, two joors,” the medic conceded though it was obvious she wasn’t happy with that. “But when I come back you’ll either stop drawing or I will take that datapad from you. And don’t expect me to return it until you are released home.” With that she left to take care of her other patients.

Two joors passed in blur, with Prowl cradling the little one, Sunstreaker drawing them, and Jazz talking to Sideswipe. When the medic returned, the yellow twin very reluctantly put the datapad down. He would have to add the colouring tomorrow.

Satisfied with the patient’s results the medic handed him a cube filled with green liquid.

“Do I have to?” Sunstreaker whimpered, looking miserable.

“Yes,” the medic’s tone implied that no objections would be accepted.

Heaving a suffering sigh the young patient steeled himself and downed the green slime.

“See? It wasn’t that hard now, was it?” the grey medic muttered and turned to other side of the room. “My designation’s Fixit. You must be Bluestreak’s creators?”

“No, we’re not,” Jazz hurried to explain. “We’re just—Wait, _Bluestreak?_ There ain’t a speck of blue on him!”

“I admit I was surprised too but that’s what the name tag by the door says.”

“It sounds suspiciously like a blend of _Blues_ and _Silverstreak_ ,” Prowl voiced his opinion looking at the most likely culprit. Sideswipe made his best “innocent youngling” face. It wasn’t very convincing.

Little grey doorwings twitched and fluttered.

“You like it?” the older Praxian asked. The sparkling nodded shyly.

“Alright then! Bluestreak it is!” Jazz grinned. He rather liked that designation.

“Well, Bluestreak, I need to scan you,” the medic said with a smile. “Please put him down on the berth.”

Prowl tried to comply but the little one refused to cooperate, clinging to the enforcer tightly. “You are being illogical,” Prowl sighed. “The medic won’t be able to scan you while you’re holding on to me.”

Jazz could only shake his helm at his lover’s antics. “Are ya afraid of scanners, Blue?” he asked, caressing the sparkling’s back soothingly. Bluestreak’s doorwings flared in a negating motion. “Then what’s wrong?” He received no answer.

“Maybe he’s afraid that you will leave once he lets go of you,” Fixit suggested. “It’s not unusual for scared sparklings.”

“Then how ’bout ya hold Prowl’s servo while she scans ya?” Jazz came up with an idea. “That way he won’t be able ta leave.”

Reluctantly the little Praxian allowed Prowl to put him on the berth and immediately grabbed onto his servo. He tensed when the medic lifted the scanner and tried to hide behind the larger mech.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetspark,” Fixit soothed. “You won’t even feel it and it will be over real quick. You don’t believe me? Ask Sunstreaker.”

The yellow twin shrugged. “Yeah, it kinda tingles but it doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“See? Now let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Squeezing Prowl’s servo for reassurance, Bluestreak let the scanner’s green light wash over him.

“There, all done. You’re healing well, Bluestreak,” the medic smiled, handing him a cube of thick white liquid. “Here’s your energon.” She chuckled seeing his face. “It’s a special blend that won’t hurt your fuel tank.”

Bluestreak took a mistrustful sip and immediately grimaced at the bitter taste but Prowl stroked his doorwing and it felt nice, so he forced himself to drink it because he wanted Prowl to do it again. His engine let out a soft purr when his wish was granted.

Fixit took the empty cube. “The visiting hours are almost over but there are rooms for creators in the C-sector if you would like to stay overnight. I believe room C244 is free at the moment.”

Prowl shook his helm. “Thank you for the offer but we have to decline. We both have an early shift tomorrow and it wouldn’t be practical if we had to commute all the way from here.”

“Actually, love, Ah just changed with Shackles so Ah’m starting later and ya’re on holiday. Boss says he doesn’t wanna see yar doorwings at the headquarters for at least a groon, and Primus knows ya deserve a break.”

Prowl looked at his partner sharply, about to tell him just how much he didn’t appreciate Jazz meddling in his affairs behind his back but a pair of blue optics filled with hope stopped him from doing so.

::We’ll talk later:: he promised.

Jazz did a rather impressive imitation of Sideswipe’s “innocent youngling” face.

 

* * *

 

Bluestreak stared at the door to room C244 longingly. It was long past the time he was supposed to be in recharge but his charging protocols wouldn’t initiate. He had hoped to sneak in to the room where Prowl and Jazz were staying and recharge there but he couldn’t reach the locking mechanism. Even if he could, he didn’t know the entry code. He could still ping the door but the chime would wake up the adults and they might send him away. Then again, maybe they _would_ let him stay... _What should he do?_ Little doorwings fluttered in frustration.

His musings were interrupted by a sound of footsteps. Bluestreak quickly looked around but the there was nowhere to hide on the deserted corridor. The footsteps were coming closer. He briefly considered running but he knew he wasn’t fast enough. _Oh no..._

A young mech with medic’s decals emerged from around the corner. Bluestreak had secretly hoped the medic wouldn’t notice him but he was immediately spotted.

“Sneaking out of our berth, are we?” the adult asked with a kind smile, crouching down to be on optic level with him. “You want to recharge with your creators?”

What Bluestreak wouldn’t give for creators like Jazz and Prowl... He nodded and looked at the big mech hopefully.

“How sweet,” the medic whispered and opened the door with an override. “Just don’t tell anybot I let you in, okay?”

Bluestreak flared his doorwings in ‘thank you’ motion. The light from the corridor briefly illuminated the dark room. It contained basic furniture and a double berth with two forms resting on it. One of them had distinctive doorwings twitching in recharge. That was all he needed to see. He stepped inside and let the door close behind him. He was too young to have a night vision upgrade yet so he simply went by the most recent memory. Taking advantage of his light weight Bluestreak treaded lightly and silently to the berth. He carefully settled down on the ground at Prowl’s pedes and prepared to recharge. The floor was hard and cold, and the welds on his stomach were aching. For a moment he regretted having not taken a pillow or at least a blanket with him. But the truth was that the young Praxian was used to recharging on the ground – and if it meant he could recharge by Prowl’s side, he would gladly spent every single night of his life without a berth to lie on. Satisfied that he was protected by the two adults, Bluestreak finally fell into recharge. He didn’t see the faint light of onlining optics, didn’t feel a pair of servos gently lifting him up...

Bluestreak would online joors later resting on Prowl’s chest, with a small pillow under his helm, covered by a thermal blanket, and most importantly, safely wrapped in black and white servos.

 

* * *

 

Resting on Prowl’s chest Bluestreak could feel the faint thrum of the adult’s spark. He didn’t dare moving, afraid that if he even vented too loudly the spell would break and he would online hungry and alone in an abandoned old building. Unbeknown to him, his doorwings were aflutter with suppressed emotions.

“Oh, look who’s up!” Jazz’s smiling voice announced. “Morning, Blue. Did ya recharge well?”

Giving up Bluestreak onlined his optics and... Much to his shock nothing happened. A hesitant smile lit up his face as he nodded in answer to Jazz’s question. He had never recharged better in his life! Looking at Prowl he flared his doorwings wide and then bounced them high up, wordlessly saying ‘thank you’.

“You’re welcome,” the adult smiled at him. It was nothing like Jazz’s permanent grin – it was a brief, economical smile, just a rise of the corners of his mouth – but it was sincere and to Bluestreak it meant a lot. He slid off Prowl’s chest, allowing the enforcer to rise as well.

Jazz crouched to Bluestreak’s level and stroked the sparkling’s cheek: “Listen, Blue, Ah have ta leave for a mission. Ah don’t know when Ah come back. Maybe in two orns, maybe in ten... But I’ll visit ya as soon as Ah can, promise! Be good and take care of Prowler for meh, will ya?”

It saddened Bluestreak that Jazz was leaving. He liked the mech. But Jazz said he would come back and Prowl was staying, right? They weren’t leaving him all alone here.

Forcing a smile on his face Jazz kissed both Praxians on a cheek. “Ah miss ya already,” he sighed. “Ah should go. The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll get to see ya again. Bye, sweetsparks! Ah’ll hurry back to you!” He left with a cheerful wave, making the room suddenly feel much emptier.

Both sets of doorwings drooped.

 

* * *

 

The playroom swarmed with sparklings of all ages. With his audios’ sensitivity toned down a few notches, Paintbrush followed the nursebot as they made their way through the small (but very noisy) crowd carefully watching their every step.

“This is Bluestreak,” the nursebot finally announced. The sparkling Paintbrush was looking for was (thank Primus) quietly sitting in a corner playing with holographic cubes.

“There’s not a speck of blue on him,” the artist muttered to himself, “but that can be easily fixed.”

Having caught his designation the little Praxian perked up, looking at the two adults distrustfully.

“Bluestreak, this is Paintbrush,” the nursebot said. “He will repaint you so your plating is all nice and shiny again.”

“Hello, Bluestreak. Will you follow me?”

The sparkling held up a servo asking him to wait and ran off to the adults’ section of the room.

Prowl had decided to use the unexpected time off to finally work on some low priority tactical scenarios he’d never had the chance to contemplate. Seeing how distressed Bluestreak got when Prowl disappeared from his sight the doctors let him stay with the sparkling. Thus he ended up in the playroom where he simply offlined his audios and tuned his doorwings to monitor Bluestreak’s movement. He immediately snapped into attention when he felt someone approaching the sparkling.

Noticing Prowl watching him Bluestreak smiled and waved his doorwings asking the adult to follow him.

“Hello, I’m Paintbrush,” the violet and green mech introduced himself, shouting to be heard over the noise. “I’m here to repaint Bluestreak if that’s alright with you.” Some creators were picky about who repainted their sparkling but luckily the bigger Praxian - Prowl or something - nodded in consent.

Unnoticed by anybot Sunstreaker perked up at the mention of repaint and followed the trio into the paint studio.

 

“Alright, Bluestreak,” Paintbrush smiled, happy to be back in his (wonderfully quiet) kingdom smelling of high quality paints. “Can you please stand in this circle here so we can scan you?”

The little one looked shyly at his creator, who encouraged him to go ahead and do so. It took only a few clicks to complete the scan. As the sparkling descended, a perfect hologram appeared where he’d been standing.

Paintbrush struggled to suppress a moan. _Such a horrible finish!_ Something terrible must have happened to the poor mechlet... Thank Primus he was alright now – and judging from the way he was clinging to his creator, he was in good servos. The only thing that was missing was a beautiful shiny paintjob.

“So, Bluestreak. What are your original colours? Or have you thought about what colours you would like to be?”

The little Praxian just looked at his creator helplessly.

“I honestly have no idea,” Prowl admitted, shocking Paintbrush speechless. A creator who didn’t know what his sparkling’s colouring should be? Impossible. Then again, nobot _said_ Prowl was Bluestreak’s creator. It was just a natural assumption, given their frame type and their closeness.

“Alright, let me just create a design for you and we can make some changes to it,” he proposed, collecting himself. Standing over the design board he tapped a few colours to mix a perfect shade. “Now I would suggest we keep the grey foundation...” _Tap tap click tap_ “And add blue racing stripes going from the chest...” _tap swipe click click_ “like this” _swipe swipe_ “all the way up to the doorwings. Blue pelvic plating to match the stripes...” _tap tick tick click_ “and blue servos.” _Tap tap._ “There. What do you think?” The slowly rotating hologram now displayed Paintbrush’s changes. He let it complete the rotation and punched a few keys. The hologram transformed into a standard Praxian alt mode. Of course, Bluestreak was still too young to transform but it would at least give him an idea of what he would look like in a few orns.

“ _Absolutely not!_ ” a sparkling’s voice protested vividly. Much to Paintbrush’s surprise, it wasn’t Bluestreak. He turned around to look at a young warrior model with absolutely stunning paintjob – thirteen shades of golden yellow expertly blended to highlight or visually suppress certain areas.

“Nice finish,” he said, receiving a smug ‘ _thank you_ ’ in return.

“Sunstreaker. What are you doing here?” Prowl demanded.

“Helping Blue choose his paintjob. That’s what friends are for.” Sunstreaker moved through the studio as if it belonged to him, walking right up to the console.

Paintbrush blocked his way. “Please don’t touch anything. That’s some very expensive equipment.”

“Hey, relax. I know how to work with design boards. Who do you think designed my paintjob?”

“ _You?_ ” he raised an optic ridge sceptically.

“Of course. Like I would trust anybody else with something so important.”

Hmm... _A warrior model with a gift for design? How unusual._

“Alright, but if you break it I guarantee your creators aren’t going to be happy,” Paintbrush warned.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Sunstreaker tapped a button and undid the last few changes. “Look, I agree with the grey foundation but I would go for more than one shade. Silvery grey here, here and here. I’d put a darker shade here and here. Darker still for the chest and forearm guards. Red stomach plating and thighs to match his chevron. Now let’s just add some highlights... And some shadows... There, all done.” The sparkling turned to his audience expectantly.

Bluestreak clapped his servos, excited. It was a beautiful paintjob and Sunstreaker designed it just for him! He loved it!

“You’re very talented, Sunstreaker,” Prowl nodded in approval.

“I knew you would like it,” the young artist declared with confidence.

Paintbrush shook his helm. Apparently words like _humble_ or _shy_ weren’t compatible with a warrior programming. “How could you know something like that?”

“I’ve studied Praxian ideals of beauty. A design like this would be found pleasing by the majority of Praxian population.”

“I have to admit it is quite good indeed. Only there’s no blue in it...”

Sunstreaker heaved a sigh. “Never mind that. It’s a long story featuring my idiotic twin.”

“Very well then. Bluestreak, Prowl, you can wait here while I mix the paints or you can come back in twenty breems, it’s up to you.” Turning back to Sunstreaker he added: “Would you like to help? And more importantly, have you considered apprenticeship?”

Sunstreaker’s grin couldn’t turn any smugger.

 

* * *

 

Jazz was happy to be back in Iacon. The damned mission took longer than he would have liked. His first urge was to go straight to the Iacon Central to see Blue and Prowler but he knew Imposter would have his plating if he did. Unfortunately, the Praxian cuties had to wait until Jazz debriefed his boss. Maybe they’d already released Bluestreak; Prowl would know. Oh, how Jazz couldn’t wait to see his love again and nuzzle those gorgeous doorwings! He forcibly ended that line of thought and focused on the upcoming debriefing. Thankfully this time Imposter wasn’t keen on grilling him for long, and Jazzmeister could tick another ‘mission accomplished’ in his records. Humming a cheerful note he strode down the corridors leading to the Tactical Department, returning greetings and nods with a smile.

The door to Prowl’s office was open. Curious, Jazz peered in and found the tactician working at his console. To a stranger Prowl might have looked his usual impassive self but Jazz immediately knew something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

“Prowler?”

“Ah, Jazz. Welcome back. I trust your mission was successful?”

He nodded and stepped in, closing the door after him. In five quick strides he was at Prowl’s side, pulling him to an embrace. He could feel the pair of doorwings tremble.

“What’s wrong, love? Did something happen to Blue?” he asked, alarmed.

Much to his relief, Prowl shook his helm. “I believe Bluestreak is fine. A social worker took him to a home for abandoned sparklings to offer him for adoption.”

“Ya miss him, don’t ya?” Jazz has never heard so much pain in Prowl’s voice. “Sweetspark, you know Ah adore him. An’ Ah always wanted sparklings. We could raise him together.”

But once again Prowl shook his helm, optics white with static. “Not eligible,” he whispered. “Mechs with advanced tactical and/or logical centres are not eligible as foster creators.”

“ _What?_ Why the frag not?” Jazz exclaimed, shocked.

“Incompatible emotional programming.”

“That’s a load of slag!” the saboteur protested. “Surely they--”

He was interrupted by the sound of door chime. Prowl stepped back, reset his optics and sat down at the table, his face the epitome of neutrality as he pinged the door open.

A dark blue enforcer entered, a pile of datapads in his servos. “I have those reports you requested, sir.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Rollout. Please put them over there.”

Prowl turned back to Jazz when Rollout left. “As you can see, I have a lot of work to do. I would prefer if we could continue our talk later.”

“Of course, love.” Jazz reluctantly conceded, knowing better than to argue. Prowl was created to be efficient and he was always able to separate ‘personal’ from ‘important’ when it came to work. Few had that gift. Besides, work calmed him and right now it was just what he needed the most.

Five breems later Jazz was on his way to the hospital to find out who took Blue and where. He learned that Bluestreak was taken by a mech designated Quickdrive. Jazz immediately called in a few favours, worrying that by the time he found the mech, it would be too late and somebot would have already adopted their little Bluestreak. Who _wouldn’t_ want an adorable sparkling like that?

Unfortunately, the mech’s designation was actually Quick **dive** , and because both orphanages in Iacon were full, ‘Blues-streak’ was taken to Simfur, leaving Jazz relentlessly chasing the wind.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Bluestreak. Do you remember me?” Ratchet smiled at the little Praxian sitting on the examination berth.

The sparkling nodded, forcing an unconvincing smile on his lip plates. Ratchet felt his spark clench at the sad sight. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, caressing the small helm.

Bluestreak wordlessly leaned into his touch, doorwings drooped. The poor sparkling was obviously starved for affection.

“Let’s scan you and see how we can fix it, okay?”

The Praxian allowed it without objections, sitting quietly through the process. Normally Ratchet liked well-behaved patients but there was a difference between _obedient_ and _dronish._ The scanner beeped and Ratchet looked at the data. He didn’t like what he saw. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Quickdrive.” The mech in question flinched when the medic turned to him with a glare.

“My designation is—”

“I don’t care what your designation is! Three groons ago I signed off the release of one admittedly shy but perfectly healthy and lively sparkling with a brand-new shiny paintjob. What in the name of Unicron happened to him?”

“We don’t know, okay? That’s why I brought him here,” Quickdrive crossed his servos defensively. “There is no reason for his paintjob to look this tarnished. He refuels and recharges normally but he doesn’t speak and never plays with other sparklings.”

“Someone with his energy readings _does not_ recharge normally,” Ratchet challenged.

“Well, he’s never complained about being unable to recharge and nobot reported it,” the social worker objected.

Ratchet forced himself not to respond, turning back to his little patient instead. “Would you like an energon goodie, Bluestreak?” he asked softly, unsubspacing a sweet crystal.

“I would prefer if you didn’t give him unhealthy fuel.”

It took all of Ratchet’s willpower not to give the brown mech a piece of his processor. “Energon goodies are only unhealthy when consumed in large quantities. Besides, this isn’t a store-brought goodie. I made it myself especially for young patients. It contains cybertronium, duryllium, zinc and several other ingredients a developing frame needs.” He offered the crystal to Bluestreak again. The little Praxian looked at his caretaker uncertainly but seeing that Quickdrive didn’t protest, he took it. He ate it slowly, savouring the taste.

“Remember your roommates, Sunny and Sides?” Nod. “They were released shortly after you left. They kept asking about you when Sunny came for his check-ups. He’s finished his drawing, by the way.” Ratchet rummaged through the pile of datapads on his table until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is. Sunstreaker asked me to give it to you.” The medic had to admit it was beautiful. Sure, Paintbrush had mentioned the mechlet was very talented, but Ratchet never expected him to be _this good_.

It was a stunningly accurate drawing of Prowl cradling Bluestreak. Somehow, Sunstreaker managed to perfectly capture their expressions. Prowl, his doorwings stiff, frame tense, servos gentle. He held Bluestreak like one would hold a treasure, afraid that the mechlet would fall if his servos were too light, or that he might hurt the little one if his hold was too tight, but desperately wanting to never let go of his precious burden. It was not simply a picture of an adult holding a sparkling – it was a picture of an adult Praxian holding the last sparkling of his nearly-extinct model type and knowing it. Bluestreak’s face was partially hidden from the view as he pressed his cheek against Prowl’s chest but you could still see his raw emotions – sadness, loneliness, desperate need for affection and protection against the cruel world, mixed with hope and unconditional trust only a sparkling could give. Simply beautiful. Sunny also added a rough sketch of a grinning Jazz in the background. It was in sharp contrast with the elaborate details of the two Praxians but it somehow belonged there. Maybe it was his expression – Ratchet had often seen that affectionate smile on his own creator’s face.

“Here you are,” he handed the datapad to Bluestreak.

The sparkling took it and simply looked at it for a long while. Then he clutched it to his chest and offlined his optics. Apart from trembling doorwings he sat utterly still; he didn’t even make a sound. It was only thanks to his advanced medical sensors that Ratchet realized Bluestreak was actually crying his spark out.

 

* * *

 

::Iacon Police Headquarters, Whirlwind speaking. How may I assist you?::

::I need to speak to enforcer Prowl.::

::I am very sorry, medic Ratchet, but Chief Prowl is currently unavailable. What do you need assistance with?::

The medic suppressed the urge to growl. ::I don’t assistance, officer, I simply need _Prowl_.::

::I’m afraid he’s currently in an important meeting.::

::Look, I don’t care if he’s in a meeting with the Prime himself or if he’s in slaggin’ stasis! Tell him to get his aft to Iacon Central _right now_. This is important!::

::As it happens, he is indeed in a meeting with the Prime,:: the enforcer confirmed, unable to hide his amusement. ::Are you sure want me to disturb him?::

::Yes, please do.::

::Very well, if you insist. I’ll see what I can do. What do you want me to tell him?:: Whirlwind asked.

::Thank you. Tell him it’s about Bluestreak. And that he might as well want to grab the black and white Polyhexian on his way here.::

::Alright, but I can’t promise he will come immediately.::

::Trust me, he will. Thank you.:: Ratchet disconnected the call and wrapped his servos around the distressed sparkling.

“Shh, it’s alright. Prowl’s on his way,” he whispered so that only Bluestreak could hear him.

Large blue optics reset a couple of times to clear the static and looked at him with a hesitant, fragile hope. Ratchet smiled at the mechlet, nodding in confirmation. For the first time that orn, Bluestreak’s faceplates lit up with a small but genuine smile.

“What’s on that datapad?” Trust Quickdrive to ruin the moment.

“It’s a drawing of Bluestreak and his enforcer friends,” Ratchet valiantly fought to keep hostility from seeping into his voice.

“Prowl?” the social worker frowned disapprovingly.

Bluestreak’s doorwings drooped again. Ratchet quickly grabbed the closest game datapad to distract him. (It was actually a test to determine a sparkling’s spatial orientation, but little ones loved it.)

“I take it you don’t like the mech? Why?”

“They are not a good match. Prowl’s battle computer prevents him from understanding what a sparkling needs when it comes to emotions. You can’t tell a sparkling to ‘stop being illogical’ when all he needs is a hug.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem in Prowl’s case,” Ratchet protested. “Have you seen them together? He clearly cares about Bluestreak and it’s obvious Blue adores him.”

Quickdrive shook his helm. “Bluestreak only likes Prowl because he’s a Praxian. After not seeing one of his frame type for so long, he would have taken a liking to any Praxian, enforcer or criminal.”

Ratchet frowned again (he’d been doing that a lot in the other mech’s presence). “Do you have a degree in sparkling psychology?”

“No,” Quickdrive answered, unfazed by the question, “but like all social workers, I have the necessary education. Why?”

“I see. Are you familiar with Switchgear’s work?”

“Some of it. Is there a point to your questioning?” he demanded.

“Yes, there is. You’re saying that Bluestreak would be fond of anybot with Praxian frame.” The medic quickly searched his library and allowed himself a small smile of victory when he found what he was looking for. “Switchgear actually proved in her research that such assumption is wrong.” He handed the datapad to Quickdrive. “Have a seat and read chapter two – _Interesting new object, interesting new mech_.”

“What, right now?” the social worker asked, surprised.

“Sure. It’s not that long, and you need to wait about half a joor before the additives I prescribed to Bluestreak are delivered anyway.” That was not strictly true, the additives would be ready much sooner, but he needed to kill time until Prowl arrived. And there was no doubt in Ratchet’s processor that the enforcer _would_ arrive soon.

The book he gave to the annoying brown mech was a fascinating study of sparklings’ reactions to various stimuli. The chapter he wanted Quickdrive to read dealt with the fact that unlike adults, sparklings decided whether they liked or disliked a mech they had never met before within the first two clicks from seeing him. Colour schemes had nothing to with it, age was of no consequence, height didn’t matter (until their second upgrade sparklings had virtually no self-preservation instinct and therefore weren’t intimidated even by Omega-sized mechs), voice played no part and apparently neither did mech/femme or flier/grounder distinction.  And, most importantly, having the same frame type as the sparkling didn’t automatically mean the sparkling would like you... Surprisingly, or maybe not, the only thing that mattered was the EM resonance. If your energy fields were dissonant, no amount of candy would make the sparkling like you. If, on the other servo, your fields resonated harmonically, the little one would immediately trust you and consider you their friend before you even looked their way.

Leaving Quickdrive to read, Ratchet went to check how Bluestreak was doing. He was astonished to find the grey Praxian smoothly breaking the high score. Not only was the mechlet moving on to level 53, he had yet to lose a life or get a penalty. Granted, doorwingers had an exceptional spatial orientation – but this was unusual even in adult Praxians. Ratchet updated Bluestreak’s medical file with a recommendation to focus on developing this particular skill in his further education. With this much talent, Bluestreak might grow up to be a successful architect (imagine him combined with Sunstreaker and his aptitude for design!), pilot or even spaceship navigator...

“I... might have been a bit hasty in my conclusions,” Quickdrive interrupted his musings after several breems.

“Glad you realize it. You will get a chance to apologize to Prowl shortly, he should be on his way here.”

The mech’s vents stuttered in shock. “How dare you call him behind my back? That’s a blatant disregard of my authority!”

“I can override your decisions when it comes to medical matters,” Ratchet reminded him calmly. “And this certainly _is_ a medical matter,” he continued, not giving the social worker a change to protest. “Bluestreak is depressed. Do you know what he needs more than medication right now? A long hug from somebot who cares about him.”

As if summoned by his words, somebot—hopefully Prowl—pinged the door. Not caring about Quickdrive’s opinion, Ratchet let them in.

There was a burst of static from Bluestreak’s vocalizer before he uttered his first words in many vorns. “Jazz! Jazzjazzjazzjazzjazz!” he cried out as he scrambled off the berth and ran towards the door.

The Polyhexian crouched and opened his servos in welcome. “Hey, Blue,” he whispered as he caught the sparkling and held him close.

“I missed you! I thought I would never see you again! When you didn’t come to see me I thought you forgot about me! I missed you so so much! I—” the mechlet choked on static and cried.

“We never forgot about ya, Blue. I’ve been searching fo’ ya all this time,” Jazz caressed the grey doorwings. “Now that we’ve found ya, we’re not goin’ anywhere. Ah’ve got you. Shhhh. We’re here. We’re here with ya. I’m not letting’ ya go. Shhhh.” He rocked the sparkling, reassured him again and again that they wouldn’t leave, rubbed his back – but nothing he said or did soothed the sobbing Praxian.

Forcing his battle computer offline and finally breaking the spell holding him frozen on the spot, Prowl stepped forward and cupped the crying face. Bending down he pressed his forehead against Bluestreak’s and nuzzled the red chevron with his own. Just like that, the sobs died down. Bluestreak looked at him with big static-filled optics, took his face in tiny servos and nuzzled right back with a soft whimper.

He barely noticed when Jazz handed him over to Prowl. He dug his fingers into nooks in the adult’s armour and hid his face in Prowl’s neck. Nobot had nuzzled his chevron since... Since his creators deactivated. The small gesture of affection reassured him more than words ever could. He wrapped himself in Prowl’s energy field and offlined his optics, feeling utterly drained.

“I want t’ adopt Bluestreak,” Jazz broke the silence. “Ah don’t have a battle computer nor an advanced logic centre,” he looked at Quickdrive challengingly. “I do have a well-paid job, a spacious apartment close to a daycare, and a loving an’ caring partner who is very fond of Blue _and_ who knows everythin’ there is ’bout takin’ care of doorwings. How’s that sound?”

“Please fill in this application,” Quickdrive said in a monotone business voice, databursting him a package over the short-range comm.

Jazz’s optics dimmed as he focused on the form. “Is bein’ bonded a prerequisite?”

“No, it’s not but we prefer bonded couples. That way the sparkling won’t have to suffer through the couple’s breakup.”

The enforcer nodded and turned to Prowl. “Well, this is certainly _not_ how Ah imagined it but Ah’ve been wantin’ ta ask ya fo’ quite some time now. Prowler, I love ya more than a Seeker loves the sky. Will ya bond with meh?”

Staring at his beloved in surprise, Prowl suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He knew he was supposed to say _something_ , preferably romantic, but his cutting-edge processor refused to cooperate ( _now_ of all times!). All he could do was nod. His betrothed smiled nonetheless; the saboteur knew him well. They sealed the promise with a quick, chaste kiss and Jazz ticked “engaged” as his marital status in the adoption request. He quickly filled in information about his future bondmate (ohhh, he loved the sound of that!) and returned the document to Quickdrive.

“When can we expect the answer?” he asked.

“That depends on how busy the adoption committee is. It may be tomorrow or it may be in a few groons,” the brown mech shrugged, uninterested.

“Well,” Ratchet stepped forward, interrupting the conversation, “now that the formalities are settled, I would like Bluestreak to stay here overnight for observation. I believe you two know where the creator rooms are. He can recharge with you if he wants. Congratulations, by the way. Now shoo, I have other patients to take care of and I don’t like healthy mechs in my office!”

Bluestreak shut down before they even left the room. After a tedious discussion with Quickdrive, Prowl and Jazz found a nursebot and asked about a spare room for the three of them. Bluestreak recharged soundly that night, curled on the berth between the two enforcers, for once unplagued by nightmares.

It was a miracle how much difference one night could make. The next morning the mechlet looked much better than yesterday, especially after Quickdrive stopped by to inform them that their request had been approved.

Jazz chuckled as he watched Sideswipe and Sunstreaker drag their still sleepy but very eager adoptive creation off to the playroom. Blue’s vocalizer was running mile per minute.

::Jazz?:: Prowler asked over the comm.

::Yeah?::

::You hacked their system, didn’t you?::

::Yep.:: There was no point in lying to his betrothed, and it wasn’t like Jazz was ashamed of infiltrating their poorly secured records.

::Jazz!::

 _Ooops_ , he knew that reprimanding tone.

::Yes?::

A muffled sigh. ::I love you.::

 

* * *

 

Optimus always enjoyed his visits to the temple. There was something soothing about the place that filled his spark with peace as he followed the High Priest through the halls lined with columns – until the sound of a canon powering up disturbed the silence.

“Ironhide?” _What was going on?_

“Why are there seventeen enforcers in the garden?” his loyal bodyguard demanded tersely, immediately scanning the surroundings for any threats and stepping closer to the Prime, ready to defend him with his life.

“Please calm down,” the High Priest raised his servos placatingly, “they are here for their colleagues’ bonding ceremony. It’s starting in half a joor. We’re expecting about thirty more to come.”

“Oh,” Ironhide sheepishly powered his canon down.

“A bonding ceremony?” the Prime perked up. “May I watch?” He had a thing for bonding ceremonies; but who could blame him? There was just something magical about love that brought two sparks together.

The High Priest chuckled. “Watch? You may officiate if you wish.”

 _Oh._ Right. As the Matrix-bearer Optimus was technically the highest religious authority on Cybertron. (He tended to forget that. He still thought of himself as Orion, a simple dock worker who became an archivist. There was nothing special about him. Why the Matrix deemed _him_ worthy of being the Prime, he would probably never comprehend.)

“I would like that very much,” he answered honestly.

The High Priest smiled in approval. “Very well. Lantern will help you prepare.”

A cheerful looking yellow mech asked Optimus to follow him. They got into a brief argument with Ironhide because apparently some parts of the temple were for priests only, but eventually the guard relented. After all, the temple was surrounded with enforcers. If that wasn’t safe enough, no place was.

Optimus was led to the innermost part of the temple. A group of acolytes helped him clean himself, retouched his paint and polished his armour almost to perfection. A golden stole was draped over his shoulders, indicating his status of a priest.

“Looking good. Nervous?” Lantern inquired with a grin, handing him a ceremonial dagger.

“Excited,” Optimus answered honestly.

“Good. Do you remember the promises?” The Prime nodded. “Excellent. The Polyhexian’s name is Jazz and the Praxian is Prowl. They wanted their adoptive sparkling to hold the ribbon. His designation is Bluestreak.”

 _Prowl?_ Optimus was sure he’d heard that name before... _Of course!_ That Praxian enforcer with absolutely amazing processor. His measures had helped reduce criminality in Altihex by 20%. Their meeting was brief but Optimus remembered him as an incredibly intelligent, albeit very stern mech. He had secretly wondered what Prowl looked like when he smiled— _if_ the mech ever smiled, that is. It appeared his curiosity was to be sated that day.

Lantern left him so he could meditate before the ceremony. Optimus couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the priest returned to collect him. He followed the mech into the garden and ascended the stairs leading to the Altar of Primus. It took enforcers a klik to realize that the tall mech with priest’s stole over his shoulders was none other than Optimus Prime. When they did, they immediately stood at attention with a fist over their spark.

Not quite understanding what was going on, the little Praxian copied the adults. Optimus smiled at him; the mechlet – Bluestreak, he reminded himself – shyly smiled back. Acknowledging the formal greeting with a nod, the Prime gestured at the guests to sit down.

“Declare your intent,” he asked the pair of bondmates-to-be.

“I, Prowl, wish to bond with Jazz,” the adult Praxian said offering his servo for his partner to take.

“I, Jazz, wish to bond with Prowl,” the Polyhexian replied, accepting Prowl’s servo with a loving smile.

The Prime covered their servos with his own. “May the love that shines from your optics light your darkest hours. Servos joined, sparks joined. _Beloved_. From now on you shall rise together and fall together, laugh together and cry together, live together and die together. Do you want that?”

"I do," they answered as one, lost in each other's optics.

Optimus turned to Bluestreak and the mechlet handed him a golden ribbon. Together they wrapped it around the pair's wrists and tied it in a firm knot.

"Servos bound, sparks bound. _Betrothed_. No falsehood will ever stand between you. No distance will truly separate you. No darkness will hide you from each other. Do you accept that?"

Once again, they answered in unison: "I do." Energy swelled as their EM fields synchronised.

Finally, Optimus unsubspaced the dagger and cut through the knot. Clasping their servos he pulled them apart. They gasped softly as the bond between their sparks snapped into existence.

"Servos parted, sparks united forever. _Bonded_. Jazz, bondmate of Prowl; Prowl, bondmate of Jazz: united before Primus you stand. May he bless your union."

The newly bonded couple shared a warm smile as they rested their forehelms together. They were supposed to join their servos once again and descend the stairs together to indicate their common journey through the life. Instead, they turned around and reached out for Bluestreak. The sparkling took their servos with a smile so bright it made the Matrix tingle with happiness.

They descended the staircase as a family.


End file.
